A King Imperiled Read online

  A King Imperiled

  A Historical Novel of Scotland

  J. R. Tomlin

  Albannach Publishing

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  © 2016 J. R. Tomlin

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Historical Characters

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Historical Notes

  Also by J. R. Tomlin

  About the Author

  Glossary

  Historical Characters

  In Approximate Order of Appearance

  Sir Patrick Gray of Kinneff, Gentleman of the King's Bedchamber, Master of the Guard of King James II

  James Douglas of Avondale, later 7th Earl of Douglas, known as James the Gross

  Sir Andrew Gray, 1st Lord Gray, father of Sir Patrick Gray

  James Kennedy, Canon and later Bishop of Dunkeld and Saint Andrews

  Queen Joan de Beaufort, widow of murdered King James I, King of Scots mother of King James II

  Annabella Forbes, lady-in-waiting to Queen Joan de Beaufort, daughter of Alexander Forbes, 1st Lord Forbes

  James II, King of the Scots

  Archibald Douglas, 5th Earl of Douglas, titular Duke of Touraine, head of the Black Douglas Clan, Lieutenant General of Scotland

  William Crichton, Lord Crichton, Keeper of Edinburgh Castle and for a time Chancellor of Scotland

  Alexander Livingston, Lord Callendar, Keeper of Stirling Castle, Justiciar of Scotland

  Earl William Douglas, 6th Earl of Douglas murdered at the ‘Black Dinner’, son of Archibald Douglas, 5th Earl of Douglas.

  David Douglas, younger brother of the 6th Earl of Douglas also slain at the Black Dinner

  Earl James Douglas, 3rd Earl of Angus, head of the Red Douglas clan

  Margaret, Dauphine of France, eldest sister of King James II (only by mention)

  Isabella, Duchess of Brittany, sister of King James II

  Eleanor, Archduchess of Austria, sister of King James II

  Mary, Countess of Buchan, sister of King James II

  Joan, Muta Domina of Dalkeith, Countess of Morton, sister of King James II, third daughter of Queen Joan and King James I

  Annabella, Countess of Huntley, youngest sister of King James II

  James Stewart, Black Knight of Lorne, second husband of Queen Joan

  Alexander Seton, Lord Gordon, 1st Earl of Huntly

  William Douglas, 8th Earl of Douglas, son of James the Gross

  Alexander Lindsay, 4th Earl of Crawford

  John Douglas, brother of the 8th Earl of Douglas, created Earl of Avondale

  John of Islay, Earl of Ross, son of Alexander of that ilk

  Alexander Forbes, 1st Lord Forbes, married to Mary Douglas, daughter of the Earl of Angus, and father of Annabella of that ilk.

  Introduction

  To help with clarifying how people are referenced, in medieval Scotland, women did not take their husband’s surname, so the wife of King James I and mother of King James II was always Joan de Beaufort. Noblemen were normally referred to by their title, so that the Earl of Douglas would be called Douglas. In many references works, you may find Alexander Livingston, Lord Callendar referred to as Livingston, but Lord Callendar is the more correct name. It is what I use.

  In regard to the sister of King James, who was deaf, she did indeed sign, the royal family reputedly having brought a tutor from Italy to teach her.

  Chapter 1

  25 March, 1437

  James Douglas, Earl of Avondale. He lumbered out the door of David’s Tower, the royal residence within Edinburgh Castle. In spite of the chilling drizzle, Avondale was wearing no cloak. Sweat dribbled down his round cheeks, into the folds of his double chins. He paused, smoothing his black velvet doublet over his belly, blocking the way like a ponderous mountain.

  “Where are you going?” Avondale asked.

  Patrick Gray pressed his lips together to hold back a sharp retort. “My father summoned me.”

  “He must have meant you to wait for him at Holyrood Kirk. We have important matters afoot here, preparing for the coronation. It’s no place for a whelp.”

  It was none of the Earl of Avondale’s business where his father summoned him, Patrick thought, but he was not going to dispute with him. James of Avondale was eaten with envy for the power his cousin, the Black Douglas, had. Everyone said so. Avondale was a rich holding, but not even a tiny fraction of the holdings and power of his cousin. He resented that, until the king was murdered, the Black Douglas had his ear. He no doubt resented the fact that his cousin would soon be lieutenant general of Scotland, but Patrick saw no reason the man should take out that ire on himself.

  Bland faced, Patrick gave a polite nod. It was best to avoid arguments with any of the Douglases, even this one. “Mayhap, My Lord, but he said he awaited me here. I’d best find him.”

  “Do so then,” Avondale said, passing into the watery morning light.

  Patrick hurried through a long enfilade of stuffy rooms and waves of the scent of moth-herbs, wet wool, and oak smoke from hearth fires. Men huddled in corners whispering. Rumors must have run like wild fire since the king’s murder. Had the gossips learned that the main of the assassins, Robert Stewart, had implicated his own grandfather, the Earl of Atholl, when he was captured?

  Glances at him were wary. No one went anywhere for the nonce without a hand on their sword. Some nodded to Patrick as he passed, but no one spoke.

  When Patrick closed the door behind him, the inmost chamber was silent. His father, face haggard, stared into a small fire on the hearth. Without looking up he said, “Patrick. I expected you sooner.”

  Patrick sighed under his breath. He had been travelling since before daybreak from his father’s home at Longforgan, and in the saddle for most of the past three weeks riding with the Earl of Angus as they hunted down the men who had assassinated King James. Patrick had stopped at an inn only long enough to change out of his clothes that had been rain soaked, with mud and dirt splattered to the shoulder. He hadn’t even eaten since the night before.

  James Kennedy, Canon of Dunkeld, youngish, thin, with a short beard and tonsured, sat at a table scattered with documents, a flagon of wine, and a lit stand of candles. He gave Patrick a bleak smile.

  Chilled from the drizzle, Patrick approached the hearth and held out his hands. “I saw Avondale on my way. He said you’re preparing for the coronation…here? Not in Scone?”

  Kennedy motioned to the flagon of wine on the table. “You look fit to fall over from exhaustion, Sir Patrick. Sit and drink whilst we talk.”

  Patrick’s father grunted, but with unusual patience for him, folded his hands behind his back and waited as Patrick poured a cup of wine and took a seat opposite Kennedy.

  Kennedy folded his hands atop the pile of documents. “It is unheard of to have the coronation in Edinburgh. Bu
t the Earl of Atholl is still on the loose, and Scone is too near his lands. We will take nae chances with the life of our new king.”

  Patrick had just taken a drink of the wine, so it took a moment for him to swallow and ask, “You cannot think they would make an attempt on the prince’s life.”

  “It was in their plans and was a near thing.”

  This was news to Patrick, but he’d been chasing down a murderer too far from Scone to hear such news. He’d not considered that they’d murder a child. “Aye, I suppose they would have to kill him as well.”

  Patrick’s father shrugged, propped an elbow on the mantel, and considered his son like a merchant regarding his wares. At fifty, he was still as lean and fit as he must have been at thirty. He was dressed in his finest doublet of green satin and blue silk. His height and broad shoulders were still impressive, and his thick, gray hair gave him gravitas. “So tell me about catching up with Robert Stewart. How went the business?”

  Evidently his questions were to be ignored. “As filthy as you’d expect and knee-deep in snow for much of the chase. He was abandoned by most of his followers before we caught them. We only gave him a beating since the queen wanted him alive.”

  “Go on,” Kennedy said. As he listened to Patrick recount their long, hard ride through the Highlands led by the Earl of Angus, the churchman’s face creased occasionally into an attentive frown. As Patrick described riding down Robert Stewart’s party, he leaned forward and tilted his head. He poured a cup of wine and took a sip. When Patrick finished, he said, “After the coronation, Robert will nae last long. Tomorrow, he shall be hanged, drawn and quartered. As will his grandsire when we lay hands on him.”

  “Not beheaded?” Patrick blurted. Scots had never copied this English method of execution.

  “No,” said Lord Gray. “Not beheaded. The trial will be only a formality and it’s already agreed upon.”

  At the behest of the English queen? Patrick decided not to let the topic go. “So they meant to kill young James?” Patrick asked again. “And to make Atholl king?”

  Kennedy shook his head in negation. “Not to make Atholl king, no, but if the lad were dead and one of his sisters married to Robert Stewart, that would have had the same effect. They would have ruled in her name.”

  Patrick’s father cleared his throat. “That will nae happen, and our new liege lord shall be kept safe. That’s why I sent for you.”

  “Why you sent for me? How so?”

  “This afternoon, wee James will be crowned. He will have a household of his own, gentlemen of the bedchamber, a master of his guard. And the master of the guard will be you.”

  “Wait.” Patrick held up both hands and reared back. Since when did his father and Kennedy have the managing of the prince?

  “What about the Earl of Douglas? Doesn’t he have a say in this? What about the queen?”

  “We must have people we trust near James. Especially after…” Kennedy raised a thin eyebrow. “You may not have heard that James’s tutor was part of the conspiracy. It was a near thing that the queen reached them before the news of the king’s death did. He awaited the news that the king was murdered to kill the lad. He tried to flee and died on the spot.”

  It was nearing midday. The wind had picked up and rattled the windows. The fire popped and blazed up, illuminating Kennedy’s intense face. Patrick looked from Kennedy to his father.

  “I take it I have no say in the matter of my position.”

  Kennedy flicked the question away with a slight motion of his hand. “We must quickly gather matters in hand. With Atholl at large, there is still a possibility of an uprising, and always a danger of an English invasion. But discounting the assassins who, with the grace of God, will be dead soon enough, nobles the late king had trampled will be panting for power. Some such as Erskine will do anything possible to gain lands and titles that have gone to the crown. We cannot give them time to gather forces. God wot, Bishop Cameron being out of the country in with the Pope in Bologna is no help. No one kens which way the power of the Black Douglas will swing. The king had the Douglas well under his thumb, but now…” A shake of his head was accompanied by a grim frown. “There is nae way to ken what Douglas will do. We must act with surety and steadiness. Our first act must be putting our people into the king’s household.”

  “Will James nae continue to bide with the queen?”

  “While he is so young a lad, his place is with his mother.” Kennedy picked up a quill from beside the scattered documents. “We are preparing an act giving her control of his grace and funds for his keeping, but he must have his own household as befits a king. You will be part of it. And you shall see that he remains safe.”

  Did Kennedy have his eye on being chancellor, Patrick wondered. While the king had lived, no one would have replaced Bishop Cameron in the king’s trust. But with a child king and Cameron in Bologna, and out of favor with Pope Eugene besides, who could know? Kennedy was only a canon and sub-deacon of Dunkeld, but that would not debar him. He was, after all, a cousin to the late king and to his son. He was the son of the late Lord Kennedy and brother of that present lord. He had studied somewhere in France, but if he was a scholar and learned was beyond Patrick’s ken. Patrick decided he might as well ask. “What about the chancellor? Will it still be Cameron?”

  His father shook his head. “With Cameron to be retained out of the kingdom for only the Pope knows how long, another must be named. When he returns, then we shall see.”

  “But whom to name?”

  “After the coronation, there will be a parliament to discuss that matter and others.” Kennedy was studying a document before him, half filled with writing. He looked up. “Sir Patrick, why such hesitation over a signal honor?”

  Patrick could not refuse the task, but did they not understand what they were demanding of him? “I think this is…beyond me, sir. The king murdered. Threats to our young prince. The kingdom teetering on the edge of chaos and you task me with keeping our liege safe? Why not someone…more experienced? I…I fear I would fail. I am nae skilled in political cunning. Why me?”

  “Because you are told to,” his father snapped out. “You know how to use that sword at your belt, do you not?”

  “Aye, My Lord. You ken that I do.”

  “I expect you to use that to defend wee James should it ever come to it. And you shall use the brain in your head to gather information. You are likeable enough. You will gain the lad’s trust, so he will want you close to him. That will allow you to learn everything that goes on in his household, what those around him say and think, and thus so shall we.”

  Patrick rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to piece together what they wanted of him. “You want me to act as a spy. But it is the queen’s household as well.” He shook his head. “I dinnae understand.”

  Kennedy leaned forward, his still-youthful face creased in a deep frown. “Sir Patrick, every powerful lord in Scotland will vie for control of our boy king. And I tell you, I am nae sure that we can keep them from gaining it. His mother, our good queen, will try to hold onto the regency, but she has only a small power base. What side will the Black Douglas take? Will Angus side with him? I am nae sure who they will support when it comes to a vote. Nor is William Crichton a man to be dismissed. He is of no great family, but he has powerful friends. If anything goes wrong, even the smallest of things, James could fall into the hands of enemies as did his father for so many years. And nothing would ensue but danger and chaos.”

  “Crichton? Really?” Yes, he held Edinburgh Castle for the king, but the Crichton family had never been of any great importance.

  “Enough,” Lord Gray said. “You shall serve the lad, make yourself pleasant to all, make no enemies, and give no one reason to separate you from him. Keep him safe at all costs.”

  “And spy for you.”

  Kennedy nodded. “So you may call it if you like.”

  Chapter 2

  The bailey yard of Edinburgh Castle was filled w
ith a jostling crowd. They milled about in their velvet and silk finery, gems gleaming as the sun broke through the clouds. It took a huge number of people to fill the castle bailey, by far the largest Patrick had ever seen. It was more than two hundred yards across from the gate to the east wall, surrounded by walls higher than three men. The Royal Chapel stood in one far corner, cut off from the bailey by its own low wall. There was a large vegetable garden beside the chapel. David’s Tower loomed one hundred feet high, a grim building of gray stone so tall it cut off half the sky. The great hall, not nearly as tall but longer, stood across from the main gate, chimneys poking up, with high, narrow windows; the ones flanking the wide door giving the front a look like a face gaping out at them. There was a huge stable where horses were being led out, a dungeon, housing for the garrison, a practice yard with dummies set up, and a workshop for manufacturing weapons.

  At least the naked stone on which the castle stood meant his shoes and chausses were not instantly mud splashed as he shouldered through the crowd. A little distance away, Patrick’s cousin, Padraig Maclellan, waved frantically. He was middling height, with a sharp face, shrewd eyes, and long brown hair. He had tempted Patrick into more than a little mischief when they were lads. Patrick grinned and waved back.

  He was halfway to reaching Padraig when he saw his father, standing with the queen, motioning to him. He grimaced at Padraig and headed that way instead.